Ichor
by BuymeBalenciaga
Summary: For blood to be of any use, there needs to be a heart. SI-OC.
1. I Must Scream

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction. Pirates of the Caribbean does not belong to me.

Warnings: Allusions to drugs. Threats of sexual and physical assault.

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**Ichor**

Chapter One: I Must Scream

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It feels like sobering up too quickly from a high.

This dizziness and the waving clouds lifts from my mind and I realize I am drenched to the bone and dripping water from my dress and hair. Stood gasping and freezing atop a cliff, surrounded by a wide ocean view. There is a beautiful moon perched over the blue sea that I just can't quite focus on. The wind is sharp and salty, the stars are inviting, and behind me there are ghosts that screech as they fade away together from battle.

Two armies are fighting, screaming, the clash of swords and the smell of the sea mixed with the scent of sulfur that permeates the air as moving corpses battle with corporeal specters. I'm at a total loss as I watch the ghosts start to collapse into water, forming one long harrowing scream.

"What.. the fuck."

It's a lot to take in for a girl who's never left her hometown.

_Probably a dream.  
_  
After all, I am a deep sleeper and a bit of a creative myself. This would hardly be the first time I've had a nightmare like this. It'd just be one of those rare times I'm lucid while it happens.

_But I could've sworn I was doing something._

I look down and I see my dotted sundress clinging to my legs from the water and my hair matted to my skin, my tote bag is filled with water, and the brown paper bag I had with me carrying my groceries- _groceries, I was getting groceries-_ is slowly falling apart. Basically, I look like a wet dog and my bread is soggy now.

Despite everything, something catches my attention, a small distance from me, is a young boy begging and kicking his legs weakly against a man who has him choked and raised out near the edge of the cliff.

Which dream or not, child abuse is not a fucking cute look at all.

"Hey!"

Before I know it, I've thrown my things aside and I'm running across the uneven rocks of the cliff. Shoes sloshing and slipping, I manage to make it to them and wrench the man's arm back, ripping the boy away from him. The kid topples back-first into me and falls onto my stomach as I hit the ground harder than I like in all the wrong places.

_Sure doesn't feel like a dream._

I spit and I cough, the boy does the same, both of us trying to gather ourselves when the man above us interrupts.

"What be this trick of yours Palaimon? What is this woman going to do to save you now?"

Sometimes, when presented with an option to do something, or do nothing, there is this impulsive urge to jump the gun, risk be damned, because it is in the name of a good cause. Currently, as I see the dead man tower closer over me and the boy with his face half rotted away and eyes glowering furiously into mine, I feel the cold hand of fear squeeze my heart and I can't help but think that good cause be damned. The "good cause" was probably a little shit anyway. I didn't think I'd be threatened so realistically from a dream and not for some random kid who got on the wrong side of monsters.

But here I am. The man, the living corpse, draws his sword in an elegant arch of silver and raises it to the boy's neck. I shift us both further back as the boy continues to cough before wheezing out a laugh.

"Save me? No, kýrie, this is to save you."

The tip of the blade digs into the boys neck as the kid tenses. It's an awfully detailed looking scene for a dream.

" As I promised, o kapetánios mou, a cure in exchange for my life."

At some point I managed to properly sit back up and I'm even more afraid because at this angle I can see the rest of the undead army, rallied behind the child abuser, looking very murderous with many weapons drawn.

"Boy, what be these games ye play."

His anger is still palpable, barely held back by what may be curiosity.

The kid seems content to stay resting his weight into my stomach and smiles.

"You said you were looking for a way to lift the curse. And in exchange for sparing my life, I have brought you a woman who knows how."

I'm not completely aware of the full context of this conversation but I now have reason to believe I might be involved. Which is a bad gamble boy, because out of everyone here, I'm the _most_ out of the loop.

"And after all that you've said and done. Why should we believe you?"

The boy hacks lightly, rolling over to his side. Shoulder digging into my thigh now as he moves to wrap his arms around me waist. Odd thing is, for such a cute kid and such a sweet action, it only serves to make me feel trapped like a rat against the coils of a snake.

"Because you're desperate. You have no reason not to take this chance, even if you didn't trust me. But I'm offering you a truce." I can feel him smirk into my belly, some mix between tired and victorious as he holds gazes with the man. "This girl will have your answers, and in exchange, spare me."

This prepubescent little monster. I'm suddenly much more aware of how I'm at the mercy of these zombies. The man turns his attention back to me and I really wish he wouldn't.

"Where are ye from, lass? Singapore? Speak any english?"

It might've been a little racist, and I might've said something about it, but fear of death makes for a much more disciplined self.

"I'm from Canada."

"Never heard of it."

The boy giggles softly, and I want to tell him to shut up.

"And how is it, that a lady such as yourself comes across knowledge of the curse of Cortés?"

Clearing my throat I give the best answer I've got.

"Sir, as much as I wish I could help you with your curse, I can promise you I haven't the faintest idea who you are or what the curse you're referring to is."

Obviously that was the wrong answer as the boy squeezes me something fierce, fingernails digging into my sides. The army of undead begin yelling in dissent and their leader roars out something terrifying and grabs the boys leg, dragging him towards the edge of the cliff again.

"So you prove yourself to be a liar again, boy!"

The kid screams again, absolutely harrowing and desperate that it almost makes me do something stupid again. But with the way he was clinging onto me, clawing hard enough to leave marks and I'm nearly dragged off across the rocks with him until two other zombies grab me to separate us.

"No! No! Kapetánios! Please!"

"You've done naught but lie since we rescued you from that wreckage, and it'll be your lies that send you off to your watery grave. Do you have any last words?"

"Kapetánios Barbossa please! I'm not- I'm not lying!"

Something clicks inside of me at the boy's screeching.

"Barbossa."

Oh.

Oh. I _do_ know. I may not recognize the boy or this situation but I _do_ know what this man's curse is about.

"If this be the last of your miserable tale to tell, then so be it!"

Just as the captain was about to throw the boy off the cliff I manage to scream.

"I know your curse!"

Not as though I wanted to be the subject of his attention again. But, seeing it was now or never I yelled. Panicked and fearful, I feel a shadow of doubt over my actions as the captain turns into to look at me, impatient and angry.

"Speak then!" He barks.

"The curse. There are the coins- the aztec coins in the chest."

"Aye, we've known! What else?"

"You have to gather each and every piece. You have to return each of them to the chest at the place you found it."

They fervor around me dies, and it actually gives the monsters- the pirates- pause.

Barbossa goes so far as to drop the boy, tossing him to the ground where he crumples like paper and stalking over to me with his sword drawn again. I swallow thickly as he advances. He raises his sword and the steel of its blade grazes my neck. It's enough to freeze the blood in my veins.

"Anything else, lass?"

I loved the first pirates movie but it's been years since the last rerun, and the silver screen has never made this man look as deadly as he is here now which does a whole lot to tie your tongue into knots as you try to speak.

"You-you'll need to offer blood tribute." I choke out.

"What do you mean 'blood tribute'."

"Each one of the p- the men who takes a piece of the gold, must return all the pieces taken from the chest and offer their blood as tribute to appease the curse.

The pirates who've been largely bystanders to this conversation decide now is the time to share their own laments.

"She wants us to die!" Hollers one from the far back, sparking some suspicious squabble from the different areas of the mob.

"No that's not-"

"She's lying, we can't be sacrificed if we can't die!" Some other pirate shouts, opening up the proverbial floor for all the crew to begin yelling over one another.

"No- Just-"

Somehow sixty or so undead men debating their livelihoods and their return to mortality can become rather unhinged pretty quickly. I stop trying to speak over them as things get a whole lot worse very quickly. A gang of immortal dead pirates shouting and spitting at one another without regard for logic. It would have been hilarious how dumb they are if it weren't my life on the line.

Amidst the ruckus, I see the captain rolling his eyes.

"Quiet!"

The crew immediately becomes silent with a hush. How chilling. The captain takes a deep breath before continuing calmly.

"Speak, lass.

"Its a blood sacrifice. Just a few drops of blood is enough. You still bleed right?"

The men consider this.

"Aye, without the moon, we can bleed. That be true."

"You'll need all the coins returned, and you'll need the blood of _each _of those who stole from the chest."

There's more thought from the pirates after my emphasis on the word 'each', and some quiet mutterings "oh we hadn't tried that."

But the captain, Barbossa, his sight stays narrowed and fixed to mine.

"Bootstrap." He states simply.

It feels almost like a test, to see the extent of my knowledge, and with the angle of his blade at my larynx I wasn't about to fail this test.

I nod as much as I can. And the crowd behind him grows more fervent

"We'll have to fish him out the sea."

"Impossible."

"We also need that last coin of his."

"It's been missing for years!"

I'm jostled around as the two men holding me down join the commotion. Sensing the captain's attention stray from me, I risk a peek behind the his legs to see the kid passed out, mumbling something under his breath, eyes rolled back as another pirate rests his foot on the boy's torso.

"Girl!"

I look back up to the captain. Swallowing again.

"Where can we find ole Bootstrap Bill? And that's saying, if there is still anything left of him for us to find."

An image of a watery, broken man, with barnacles and crustaceans inching up his sallow face aboard different cursed ship comes to mind.

"He- You can't find him anymore."

By some odd miracle, the sword leaves my neck. I let go of the breath I had been holding before jolting when the blade digs into the soil by my feet instead. The captain crouches all the way down so that we're face-to-face, hand half propped and half balanced against the handle of the sword.

Up close I can smell the rot, I can see the full circumference of his eyes, and I can feel the deadly pressure this man give off like sweat trickling slowly down my arms. He doesn't have any lips. There's barely any skin left on his cheek and I can watch as the holes along the cartilage of his nose move as he breathes.

_Breathing_. A dead man _breathing_.

"Now lass, wouldn't you say it be mighty cruel of you to tell us there is a cure, but then to deny it from us?"

His tone is sweet. Soft and deep like he's talking to a child. Which doesn't belay weight of the arms holding my shoulders down, nor the glint of moonlight against his blade. His body hunched is still large enough to cast a dark shadow across his face and against myself.

He is terrifying.

His right hand drops to my leg, a single finger lightly traces circles along the skin of my calf.

"Look around you. These aren't men to be trifled with. You know our curse, for eight years we have been denied. We've been unable to live, unable to die, unable to be… satisfied. We want naught but to break the chains this curse holds on us, to feel the warmth of the sun, to taste the sweetness of wine, and to feel the flesh of a woman."

His hand moves slowly up my leg, steadily heavier and heavier until there is a cold decomposing palm pressed firmly to my thigh and my head starts to swim.

"We've been starving, lass, ravenous. We may not be cured of the curse but that won't stop us from trying to _relieve_ our ails ourselves."

The bones of his fingers dig deep into the flesh of my leg like knives, bruising them as the surrounding pirates chuckle menacingly. Making it incredibly apparent to me about the looming threat.

"So the next words out of your mouth ought to be how we can be cured, or we'll prove to you how death isn't the worst thing that can happen to a lady such as yourself."

It's harder to convince myself this is a dream now. And so the words leap out of my mouth without a second thought or regret.

"His kid. Bootstrap, he has a child who's in port royal with the coin."

Barbossa stares me down with his hand still gripping my leg. It's a long period of silence before the captain finally smiles. He stands up, throwing his head back fully to laugh and sheathing his sword with a sharp swoop of his arm.

"You hear that men? Freedom is upon us!"

The men are truly joyful, they cheer, completely ecstatic, and I'd be happy for them if it weren't for the fact that I'm dealing with my own sort of shock and trauma about the situation.

Barbossa turns back towards me with the same flesh-less grin and holds out a skeletal hand for me to take, the same rotten hand that felt its way up my leg and held me in place.

"Well lass, I thank ye for your service."

For some reason I willingly take the hand of the man who threatened me and I am pulled up to my feet and nearly into the arms of this standing cadaver.

I move away, but my hand isn't released, instead it's gripped tight and turned flat with my palm in his hand. The captain bows right on over at the waist with a step back and gives a cold lip-less kiss to the back of my hand.

It's like screaming without a voice. When the mind is on fire but you are left absolutely speechless. There is a rush of color in my mind: fear, disgust, hatred. I am screaming but there is no sound. I can only watch as the man raises his eyes to look back at me, peeking, evaluating, and curving his lips upwards at whatever he's found.

"Palaimon! Consider your truce accepted. Men, take her aboard the pearl."

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**A/N**: So I'm not sure where that last story of mine is going, but I still need to keep writing so I've started a new story in hopes I know where this one is going. Who knows?

**xx BB**


	2. When I was Swallowed by the Beast

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction. Pirates of the Caribbean does not belong to me.

Warnings: Crass language.

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**Ichor**

Chapter Two: When I was Swallowed by the Beast

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Instead of throwing me into a cell the moment I boarded the ship, I'm tossed into an elaborate moonlit room of some sort, fitted with a work desk, elegant corridors to other rooms, and even a dining table.

Drifting like a ghost in a dream, I make a small circle around the room. Surrounded by maps on almost every table, a variety of compasses and tools, and unlit candles lining the wall. There is a suspicious bowl of apples at the dining table, and a few weapons scattered here and there.

Upon careful consideration, I decided that I'd rather just arm myself with this dusty blanket I found off a chair. I mean, 'abducted' doesn't change the fact that I am cold and wet. Nor does it change the fact that my abductors are cursed-undead pirates. The expression "kill you 'till you're dead" doesn't work the same. Furthermore, I'm tired. My adrenaline has long worn out since half-way down the stupid cliff and rather than freezing to death in this cold room, I'd rather just wrap this ugly blanket around myself and sit on the floor.

There is a good view of the main entrance from where I am, I have my back against the wall beneath a set of windows. Quietly, I listen to the men aboard the deck of the ship. When no one makes any movement towards the door I decide to shuck off my soaked shoes and tuck my feet into my blanket cocoon. Slowly moving to lay on my side and I feel my heart start to calm. Fun fact, the floor is a very comforting place to be when everything about your life is spiraling out of control. My heart slows and by pressing my head down onto this dirty wooden floor I am finally able to breathe. The room is dark, but the light of the moon casts a harsh light, striking the room at an angle and giving the room a blue tinge.

Vaguely, I wonder where that little boy on the cliff is.

_The one that got me into this mess._

Out of some tired, post-disaster trance, I abandon that train of thought quickly. Slowly letting the weight of my blanket soothe me into sleep.

Before I can can pass out, I am attacked by a miniature banshee.

"_Scree!"_

I screamed something out loud. Probably profanity.

Flipping away my cover. I feel a weight leave my arm and I hear a thud against the floor a little ways away from me followed by some screeching noises and rustling under the blanket.

The lump begins thrash and run, dragging my safety blanket off with him blindly, racing into and around a few chair legs before finally tangling the blanket into some ill-begotten cluster of certain doom.

I'd forgotten Barbossa had a monkey.

Or, '_Captain _Barbossa', I should say now.

Memory of his grip on my leg atop the cliff comes to mind with a shiver. I probably shouldn't anger the man by being too casual with him, even if it's just in my mind. My fate is in his hands in a way that I shouldn't risk any sort of displeasure on his part.

Though, it's also possible that flinging his monkey across the room and suffocating it to death would be quite disrespectful the captain.

Scrambling over on my knees to the trapped monkey, I do my best to carefully disengage the hysterical monkey from the tangled fabric. However the more I grabbed at the fabric the more frantic the little guy got, a distressed monkey doesn't make for an easy rescue, no matter how small.

"Okay, sweetie, I need you to calm down. Okay? I'm gonna get you out but I just need you to stay still."

Tender words aside, it probably doesn't hide the anxiety I feel about the situation. I mean, it's an animal. Human babies don't even listen half the time, there isn't any guarantee that talking will help. Thus, it's a surprise when the wrestling and the screaming stopped.

"Okay," I continue softly. "That's good. I'm just going to unwrap you from here, okay? Just give me a moment."

The animal stays incredibly still as I unbound the sheets around him, almost frighteningly calm. Even as I uncover part of the creature, it remained motionless without so much as a rise and fall of its chest.

_Please don't be dead already._

As I lift the last part of the blanket off it's head, I'm greeted by the monkey blinking up at me from it's position on its back. Obviously it's not dead, but it doesn't seem eager to move, so I'm left with watching and waiting for it to run off.

Big black eyes, small little hands, it's entire body is dressed in a small little pirates outfit. It's notably _cute._

"... I'm sorry."

The creature tilts its head up at me.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay?"

It sticks its tongue out at me and makes a kind of chittering noise a few times before turning back into a sitting position, I finally let go of some of the worries I have about whatever injuries he may have.

"Is that a yes?"

To my delight, the monkey actually nods. Scooting closer to my legs he touches my knee lightly in what could only be a sort of patting motion.

It has been such an exhausting day. With all the sudden drama of pirates and death and my increasingly bleak future, the acknowledgement of a small animal was abruptly comforting and I make sure to coo appropriately.

"You're a smart lil' guy aren't you?"

The monkey hops onto my thighs as I lean back onto my heels. He bounces around in a circle before looking back up at me and raises its hands up at me in a grabbing motion. Cautiously, I bring my hand a little closer to him.

"I wouldn't if I were you. He bites."

I whipped my head back towards the entrance fast enough to literally fall from my knees to my ass.

And then the monkey bit me.

Not that it mattered now. I'd been too engaged with the monkey. I hadn't noticed the door of the cabin entrance open, and I didn't notice anyone slip into the room. I let myself become distracted and became completely unaware of the real danger standing right behind me. For there, not even a meter away from my feet, towered the shadowy figure of Captain Barbossa.

The monkey bounds off of my legs, running into the dark and clamoring up to rest on the shoulder of his Captain.

Amidst the shade, hidden from the moon, he appears as a man. Not a corpse. The glow of the moon casts a blue lining across the edges of his flesh. His cheeks are full and creased with lines while the bones of his fingers are covered once more by veins and skin. Like time spun backwards, the dead returned to life.

"Now lass, I hope I didn't frighten ye."

He smiles and takes a step forward, illuminated by the moon. I watch as his body morphs into a carcass in the light.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself." He removes his feathered hat with a flourish as he bows.

"Captain Hector Barbossa. A pleasure to make thy acquaintance."

I started crying.

It's a real stupid feeling. Just like I was sixteen again, at my first job in a small family owned coffee shop. I was alone in the store when a man came in, yelling and demanding money, waving a dirty, used, syringe around. Speechless, I gave him the money and he left in a flurry. It was later after the police came and left, when my boss took me aside to gently and kindly ask about my well-being I broke down.

My boss comforted me and took care of me as I burst into tears in front of him. He listened patiently as I recounted the story with all the emotions I hadn't been able to safely express since that morning.

I bawled like a baby that day, just the same as I'm doing now almost ten years later _in front of a fucking pirate._

It starts off with hitched breathes, a few tears, followed by a wet struggle for composure. A mix of stress and shame to create one-hundred-percent plain old embarrassing.

"S-s-shit, I-I'm sorry." I manage to choke out. Clearly aware of how awkward I've made things.

I'm struggling to stop my sobbing by covering my face with my hands. His footsteps near and when I look up again he's crouched at my side, a step too close, holding a cloth square extended towards me.

"Hard beest to call myself a gentleman, if it be true I were to ignore the cries of a distressed beauty such as yourself."

It's clean, with minimal discoloring, and the gesture is as firm as it is courteous. Cautiously, I accept the offer and wipe whatever wetness there is from my face as he waits patiently for my cries to stop.

Fanning my face, I struggle to explain.

"Sorry, I just cry really easily when I'm stressed."

He remains steady, balanced on the balls of his feet as the monkey chirps and coos curiously from his perch on Barbossa's shoulder.

"I understand this must be a mighty… frighten' experience for ye."

As soft as his tone is, his words appear as comforting as they are mocking.

"What be your name, girl?"

"Apollonia."

He hums in acknowledgment at that.

"No family name miss...?"

"You wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

There is a quick upward curve to his lips at that.

Moving to stand, he pulls out an ornate chair from the dining table nearby. Gesturing towards it, he turns to me.

"Sit. Please."

I shuffle over onto the seat, still cold and barefoot. He bends to pick up the blanket I've abandoned from off the ground and hands it to me wordlessly. His movements slow and cautious, as thought he's taking care not to alarm me more than he already has. He crosses the room to light a few candles, producing a warm glow, and goes as far as to bring a heavy candle holder over to the dining table before pulling out another chair and setting it in the shadows. He takes a seat he looks at me with a smile, cordial and gentlemanly, as though I were only a guest.

"Where was it you said you from, Miss Apollonia?"

The answer is stuck in my throat. Not as though I hadn't already told him, but the bearing of the situation has changed, and not a city, or a country's name could begin to explain just where or when I am from anymore.

"Needn't be so afraid, miss. On mine honor, no harm shall come to you while you're aboard my ship."

My fingers curl, twisting the damp handkerchief he's given me and feeling the thick fleece of the blanket on my lap. Rubbing my cold feet against one another, I make sure to visibly relaxed my shoulders.

"My apologies, as it seems we did start with the wrong impression. But ye must know Miss, for nearly nine years we have been bedeviled by that scourge Cortés and his damned gold. Cursed, to bear the torment of death, without peace for an eternity. There not been a sea we've yet to sail, a witch we've yet to find, nor a drop of blood we've been unwilling to spill for escape from this torture. By saving that wretched sea god, Palaimon, he lies as naturally as it would from the trickster, Dolos. Promising the Fountain of Youth, then damning us furthermore by feasting off our immortal souls. Then, upon the threat of death, what salvation should appear, but you."

I remember. The ghosts, fighting the pirates on the cliff the first moment I opened my eyes. And vanishing quickly as I run to stop Captain Barbossa from killing the boy.

_A god. I was traded away like a yu-gi-oh card. By a god._

"So, I must ask ye, Miss. Apollonia, out of concern. How is it that a woman such as yourself finds herself alone, sacrificed, and abandoned by the young god of the sea."

As I stare longer at this living, breathing man before me, I begin to feel _unconvinced_.

He's right. I'm _alone_. I was plucked out of my day and life to be bargained off for reasons I can't begin to imagine. And as easy as it would be to spill my guts out to a sympathetic ear, I could do a lot worse for myself by unloading what I know carelessly to this man in front of me.

I don't believe that it is the flesh on his bones that make him human, nor do I believe that it is the curse on his soul that makes him a monster. Fear of his appearance belies the much more malignant trait of this man's cunning. Behind all his kindness and his articulation, the difference between the comfort of Barbossa and and my boss from the coffee shop, is that my boss wasn't the same man who threatened me with a contaminated syringe.

As he stares me down, eyes cold and aglow from his place in the dark, I understand that curse or not, it is simply, the heart of this man that makes him _dangerous_.

"You're terrifying, you know that?"

My awe slips through, woven into the words which makes him bark out a laugh. Looking every bit like the cruel pirate he is.

"Miss Apollonia, I haven't begun to show you terrifying yet."

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**A/N:** Hello, writing is hard. Research for writing is hard. Dialogue is hard. Creating a cohesive plot is hard. But aside from that, Barbossa is a manipulative bastard and our MC has a name finally. It's late and I'm ty-ty so I might take this chapter back to do some reconstructing. But, let me know if I'm doing something wrong.

**xx BB**


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